Caged
by Ice Queen1
Summary: Post Season 5 Finale. No real spoilers, but you're probably going to get a pretty good idea if you read it. Neal's been missing for four months when he shows up on Peter's doorstep, broken and bruised with a set of cuffs dangling from one hand.


Season 5 finale spoilers ahead, but really sort of vague. I suppose this could be anywhere in their time line, but I wrote it as a follow up to that awesome finale. One of the best ones, in my opinion, especially after a season I was kind of iffy on. But this is left purposely vague as far as circumstances as to who took Neal, where he's been, and what they wanted him for. Let me know what you think!

* * *

"You say that you're trapped.

In a cage.

A prisoner.

The cycle never ends.

Then be free. It's time.

You know how and where to find the love that you long for."

* * *

Neal was paler and thinner than Peter remembered. While he'd always been slim, he'd also been healthy. Now he looked like a scarecrow – hollowed cheeks made his face look painfully narrow, his back curved like he was in the middle of a perpetual flinch, his once vivid blue eyes sunken and dimmed. One pale skin was now a sickly shade of yellow, like worn parchment and looked stretched and painfully tight across bone and long gone muscle.

"Neal…what happened to you?"

Neal's eye twitched, and not mildly – one so violent it shut his eye completely. He rubbed absently at it, and Peter saw his hands, and felt his stomach clench uncomfortably. Neal's once pristine hands were reddened and calloused with scars. Several nails were missing, some only partially grown back. In checkered patterns across the back of his hand were short, thin red lines, some scabbed and some scarred. The joint on his thumb was freshly abraded, looking painful and swollen even in the fading light. Around his wrists were thick, ropey looking scars. Ones that prisoners sustained when bound too tightly for extended periods of time.

_This is what happens when a wild thing wants to be free._

Neal took a step away from Peter, towards the open door and the night.

"No, Neal, don't run," Peter said, fighting the urge to chase the younger man. It took all of his willpower not to lunge at him to keep him from leaving. "Just…tell me what happened."

Neal didn't answer. He rubbed a scarred hand across his face, before letting it stay over his mouth. His breathing sped up, and his eyes were suspiciously bright.

"Okay, Neal. That's fine. You don't have to talk. You don't have to say a word. Just step away from the door, okay? It's getting cold, and you're letting all the warm air out. Want to come in and warm up before you go?" Peter took a step away from his former partner so the man could see the emptiness of the house behind him. "No one else is here. Not even El. You don't have to say a word, Neal. Just come inside and warm up."

Slowly, so painfully slowly, Neal took a step away from the door.

Peter took another step back, keeping the four feet of space between them so Neal wouldn't get the idea he was trying to catch him.

"Come on, kid. You look rough. How about you sit down?" Peter suggested, stepping away from the couch and gesturing for Neal to sit. "You want something to eat? I don't have anything fancy, since El has been in DC for the week. I might have some leftovers though."

Neal's hand finally left his mouth, and Peter could tell the food caught his attention. No wonder. God knew the last time that the kid ate. He absently licked chapped lips, looking wistful in a way no human ever should over the offer of food.

"Just sit there, and I'll bring you back something, okay? You can see me just fine from the couch."

Neal absently sat, perched on the edge of the sofa as if he was unconvinced he should or could relax, eyes unblinking and focused on the kitchen.

Peter willed himself to turn around, trying to force himself to pretend like everything was okay, and like Neal wasn't going to vanish again for four months if he took his eyes off of him. He found bread and an apple, which while not substantial, Neal didn't look like he could take greasy takeout or leftover pizza. Bland was better at this moment.

He sliced up the apple into pieces, ditching the core in the trash and toasting the bread before cautiously making his way back to the living room.

Neal remained frozen on the couch, eyes watching the small plate of food as if it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Peter carefully set it down on the coffee table before backing up, but this time only to the opposing recliner.

Neal eyed him warily, before reaching out his other hand for the apple slices. As he did so, his sleeve pulled up past his wrist, and Peter couldn't help the growl of rage.

Around his wrist was a set of hand cuffs. Or at least, one half of them. The other cuff had been torn or cut and wrenched violently off, the chain broken and bent that normally connected them. Neal should have been able to slip them, or pick them as he had numerous times before, but this time it wasn't possible. The metal had been closed so tightly over his wrist and left long enough that it had literally worn away at his flesh – it was gouging into his skin so badly that Peter could see muscle and tissue and where it had started to rot.

It hadn't been picked because there was no key hole to release it. Neal would need surgery to remove it from his skin.

Too late, Neal realized what he revealed. He yanked his hand back, pulling his sleeve down again and bolting for the door.

"Neal, NO!" Peter said, lunging at the fleeing man and grabbing onto his right arm hard enough to bruise and not caring. He would bruise now and apologize later if it meant he didn't lose Neal again. "Don't run, Neal, I'm not trying to hurt you!"

Neal turned on him then, balled fist coming up to Peter's face. It hurt, but not as much as getting punched by a full grown man should have, and Peter was grateful. He didn't release Neal's arm, but caught Neal's wildly swinging hand with his, mindful of the damaged limb.

"Let go!" Neal yelled, speaking for the first time. "Let go of me!" He shoved Peter as best he could with only his upper body weight, but Peter held fast.

"Neal, just calm down! I don't know what happened, but we can fix it," Peter soothed, easily keeping pace with the con.

It was apparently the wrong thing to say, because suddenly Peter was _violently_ shoved backwards, and instead of trying to get away, Neal was now _attacking_. He wrenched one arm free at the same time as he slammed Peter against the wall.

"_You didn't look!_" Neal shouted. "_You never fucking looked!_"

Peter wasn't trying to defend himself, he was just trying to recapture Neal's wildly swing hand without grabbing the broken cuff, but Neal didn't care.

"You chased me across the world even when it was you who told me to run! You chased me for _years_ and you _always_ came looking for me! Why couldn't you _find_ me when I needed you!" Neal yelled. "You always found me! You _always_ found _me!_ _Why couldn't you find me this time_? Why didn't you _look_!"

Peter finally grabbed Neal's elbow, spinning him so Neal's back was to him, his arms folded across his own chest, and his hands safely away from Neal's wrists. Pressed against him, Peter could feel every vertebrae in his spine against his chest.

"I did look!" Peter protested, even as Neal thrashed against him, trying to break free. "I looked every minute of every goddamn _day_, Neal, for _four_ months. But you were _gone_."

He could feel Neal's strength giving out as his thrashing grew weaker, and Neal's legs suddenly gave out. It wasn't surprising, considering he looked like he was about to fall down since Peter saw him in the doorway. He slowly eased them to the floor, still keeping Neal pinned against his chest as much as to keep him from running as much as he was trying to keep Neal from hurting himself further. He could feel blood starting to trickle from the open, ugly wound under the cuff.

"I _tried_ to find you, Neal. I swear to you, I tried everything." Peter pressed the side of his head against Neal's, even as wrenching sobs shook Neal's entire frame. "But this time, I had to wait for you to find _me_."

"You _left_ me…" Neal said, so softly Peter would've missed it if he hadn't had his head resting against his friend's. "_You left me_…"

And Peter felt his heart break.

* * *

_Lost and insecure you found me, you found me_

_Lyin' on the floor_

_Surrounded, surrounded_

_Why'd you have to wait?_

_Where were you? Where were you?_

_Just a little late_

_You found me, you found me_

_The Fray – You Found Me_

* * *

So. What do you think? Good, bad, sequel (not that I have any ideas)...please leave a review. I like constructive criticism, or even just what you thought of the finale and what you think might happen in season 6. I know, I seem to have an issue writing Neal when he's in his right frame of mine, but I do so love things with broken wings...


End file.
